


The Dawn Of Duty

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Essos AU, F/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: After Kings Landing falls, Arthur flees the Tower of Joy with a pregnant Lyanna to seek asylum in the east.





	1. Tower of Joy

_“Ser Arthur?”_

_Lyanna pulls up beside him at the head of their party. She has managed the Red Mountain’s rocky passes with more ease than his Kingsguard brothers. Her mare is a slight, compact animal, though hearty in spirit, like it’s mistress. It moves through the narrow throughways and uneven terrain without faltering, so in tune with Lyanna’s bidding that they seem one creature put together._

_“Does this place have a name?” she asks._

_The day is nearly gone but there is light enough to see what has her attention. A weathered tower looming ahead, tucked between the cliffs and crags that surround it._

_“No,” he answers honestly. “Or if it did, there are none left who remember it.”_

_Her smile falls._

_“That is very sad.”_

_Arthur is not certain there is much sadness to be found in a nameless tower, but he is sorry to see the sullen look that crosses her face._

_“Perhaps you should give it a name, princess,” he offers, quietly pleased when she seems to like the idea._

_“Oh yes! Let’s!”_

_“How about we call it ‘The Dornish Derelict’?” Ser Oswell japes. Lyanna turns in her saddle to glare at him but the knight looks downright jolly when he catches Arthur’s eye._

_“We ARE in Dorne now,” Lyanna muses, pausing to consider before she suggests, “Nymeria’s Watch’!”_

_Arthur fights the urge to smile at the mention of the warrior queen. By now they all know well how fond Lyanna is of stories. Is it any wonder their little Knight of the Laughing Tree should seize upon such a tale?_

_“Or maybe, ‘Oswell’s Mighty Lance’!” Arthur’s fellow Kingsguard counters bawdily._

_Lyanna laughs, the sound carrying bright and merry against the surrounding mountain walls._

_She turns in her seat again, this time to stick her tongue out at Oswell._

_Arthur has tried not to let his mind dwell too long on the age of their charge, but at the childishness of her gesture, the reminder strikes deep in his chest, harder than the blow of any blade._

_Behind him, the game merrily continues on._

_“The Hidden Tower!”_

_“The She Wolf’s Den!”_

_“The Bat Cave!” Lyanna teases back, gesturing to the bat wings upon Oswell’s helm._

_“The Mountain’s Thumb!”_

_“The Tower of Heroes!”_

_“The Tower of Wine!”_

_“The Tower of Fools,” Ser Gerold interrupts with a grumble._

_They all laugh at that, even their melancholy prince._

_“Let us call it The Tower of Joy,” Rhaegar suggests once their mirth has quieted. The prince is wearing a shadow of a smile as he watches Lyanna, whose eyes still shine with laughter._

_“Aye,” she says, a softness overtaking her face. “That is a fine name for such a place.”_

* * *

It is dark when they set out.

Arthur guides Lyanna down the smoothed over stone steps of the tower. She is silent, her eyes red from too many tears spilled.

Rhaegar may have named this place The Tower of Joy, but there is only sorrow to be found here.

As she moves off the last step, Arthur catches a glimpse of her swollen belly beneath the folds of her traveling cloak. He cannot bear to look for long, instead glancing at the two white armored figures who wait for them. His friends. His brothers.

_We are all that is left._

Their losses are too great in number to endure. Rhaegar, their valiant prince, slain at the Trident, with Lewyn and Jonothor cast down alongside him. Barristan, his fate unknown, though likely as grim as those he fought beside. And Jaime…gods, a kingslayer and a traitor both, though Arthur is loathe to believe it.

Arthur recalls the boy knight he had left at the capital. Jaime had been angry then. Overly confident in his abilities as only the young can be and wroth at being left behind by his brothers.

_And frightened too_ , Arthur thinks. _Oh Jaime_.

Jaime’s supposed crimes are not the only ill tidings they’ve had from King’s Landing. Lord Tywin had turned traitor as well, his men sacking the city. Sacking the Red Keep. And Elia…none of what has happened is as foul or unjust as the fate of the princess and her children.

Oswell had wept when they’d received word, bearing his sword and even sharper curses for the usurper dogs. Arthur shared in his anger. But it dulled upon seeing Lyanna trembling and small and so very young, tears streaking down her lovely face.

“Not Ned. Ned wouldn’t…he couldn’t.”

For her sake, Arthur prayed that she was right. That the murder of women and children was beneath the honor of Lord Eddard Stark.

He watches her closely now as she makes her farewells.

The first is Wylla, a local girl Rhaegar found to act as Lyanna’s maidservant and companion, and as a wet nurse when the babe arrived. Lyanna pulls the girl into a fierce embrace before offering a gift. A silver bracelet, with an opal at its center.

Lyanna wears no jewelry herself. She and Arthur are dressed as smallfolk to ward away any curious eyes on the road. Still, there are trinkets and silks enough stashed in the cart they will take with them as they journey west.

Arthur knows they will have need of Lyanna’s finery, just as they will need his armor and horse, if they are to barter their way aboard a ship at Blackmount. Even so, he cannot begrudge Lyanna this show of kindness to her friend.

“Seek out Starfall,” Arthur tells the girl when Lyanna has finally released her. “My sisters will make you welcome there.”

It is the only gift he has to offer. The girl bobs a grateful curtesy, her own babe strapped in a sling on her back. 

“Yes, ser! Thank you, ser!”

A part of him wants to give the girl a message. Something to explain to his family where he is gone, why he may not return, but it is risk too great to take while Lyanna remains in Westeros.

Next is Oswell, the great fool looking as solemn as Arthur’s ever seen him. He cannot hear what words are exchanged between the knight and Lyanna, but he catches the kiss Lyanna presses to Oswell’s stubbled cheek and the tears that shine in his friends eyes.

While Lyanna says goodbye to the Lord Commander, Oswell sniffles and slaps a meaty hand upon Arthur’s shoulder.

“Damn you man,” Oswell says, trying but not quite succeeding to smile. “Even when dressed like you spend your days shoveling horseshit, you’re still too damned pretty. I’ll be glad to be rid of you. I’m tired of every woman we meet swooning when they catch sight of you and that sword of yours.”

Arthur shakes his head, amused.

“Safe journey, my friend,” he says, squeezing Oswell’s shoulder in return. He prays that Oswell and Gerold may succeed in their mission to find Queen Rhaella and her children. He could not bear it if they were to share Elia’s fate.

Though Ser Gerold Hightower is already far from a young man, this war as aged him a hundred times over. Their are new lines and valleys carved deep into his face. They make him look all the fiercer when meets Arthur’s eye, his hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

“Remember our vows,” are the only parting words the old bull says.

Arthur nods. His jaw tightens.

The oaths he has made in his life have come to feel like a stones tied round his neck, dragging him under with their weight, till he is drowned with his pledges.

It is such promises that have shackled him to this infernal place when he might have been there to fight at his prince’s back, or to guide young Jaime, or to protect Elia and the little prince and princess.

And now they keep him from the vengeance he hungers for so dearly.

_How sweet it would be to ride out now, not resting until Dawn ran slick with Robert Baratheon’s blood._

But no. He will keep to his vows.

Arthur knows his duty.


	2. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Lyanna bid farewell to one last piece of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I fully acknowledge that Nightfall is a terrible name for a horse. lol

He finds Lyanna in the stables behind the inn. She is in Nightfall’s pen, and while Arthur can see she has been crying, she seems otherwise unharmed.

For a moment he lets relief course over him, loosening the cold grip of dread that has held fast on his heart since he first found her missing.

Lyanna is meant to stay in the small room Arthur purchased when first they arrived at Blackmount. It is out of concern for her safety Arthur ordered her to do so but (as has been the way of things since leaving the tower) Lyanna seems determined to flout Arthur’s instructions at every turn.

_Befriending strangers upon the road. Wandering off when they stopped to make camp at night. Overexerting herself by walking as much as she rode in their little wooden cart, the babe in her belly and her swollen feet be damned._

Relief quickly gives way to anger. A knight does not strike a lady, but this latest act of defiance has Arthur furious enough that for one absurd moment he is tempted to take Lyanna over a knee and redden her backside as one would with a disobedient child.

“Princess, you should not be here.”

“Must you sell him?” Lyanna says, as if she did not hear Arthur speak. She runs a loving hand down the horse’s neck. Nightfall, the traitorous beast, nickers softly before nudging his nose affectionately at Lyanna.  

Arthur sighs.

“You know we must. We will need gold for our voyage.”

Lyanna is silent a moment before turning on him, a wild look in her eyes.

“We could take him with us!” she pleads. “There are other things to sell. I still have my rings! And my combs with the pearl inlays!”

“Princess–”

“And my gown with the velvet bodice! It is very fine and will not fit me so well now.”

“Princess, please–”

“And my hair! Surely there is some wigmaker that would find some worth in it! Oh please, can’t we–”

“Lyanna!” his voice is sterner than he intended. Tears begin to shine in her eyes and Arthur feels he must be the worst sort of villain.

He watches in horror as Lyanna’s determination to keep her tears at bay falters. She is sobbing by the time he has her in his arms. Lyanna seems so slight and unbearably young in his embrace. 

For a moment, Arthur is reminded of his sister. Not Ashara, who was always too independent to seek much coddling from her elder brothers, but sweet, little Allyria, still more babe than girl when last he left Starfall. He remembers how after mother’s death, Allyria would sometimes come to his chambers and curl up at his side, confident that he would dispatch the monsters that plagued her dreams as easily as he could the knights he faced in the yard.

He wishes he could offer Lyanna the same comfort. Were he Oswell he might think of some way to make her laugh. Or if he were Rhaegar he might charm her with a story and a song. But all Arthur has to offer is a sword, and that is little use against the sorrow that lays heavy upon her. 

As her tears wet the wool of his tunic, he considers, for one foolish instance, doing as she asks, if only to see an end to her sadness.

But no. He hasn’t time to try to secure passage for a horse. Not when it has been trouble enough finding a ship and captain willing to take them on without asking too many questions. It is ill luck to bring a woman aboard, most sailors would tell you, even more so if it’s one bearing a child.

And they will have need of coin for when they reach Essos, though Arthur suspects Lyanna will not be moved by so mercenary a reason.

“Will you miss him?” she asks, when her tears have quieted. 

“Nightfall?”

“Aye,” She steps away from his hold, her head downcast, as though embarrassed to meet his eye after weeping so over a horse. “It’s only…I’ve heard you.” She looks up at him through her lashes. “At night. You talk with him sometimes, when you think I am asleep, and I…you’ve done so much for me, ser, and I only thought that..”

She grows quiet, watching him. 

It is Arthur who feels like weeping now. She is right enough. The beast is the last friend left to him, in truth. It has seen him through every trial and triumph he’s faced since he first left Starfall. His most constant companion.

Parting from Nightfall is no easy thing, but it needs to be done. It is the sacrifice that come with the call of duty. But Arthur knows it is not just for the sake of his vows he will leave the horse behind. It is also for the safety of this dear, maddening girl standing before him. A girl who would sell the clothes from her back and the hair off her head just so that Arthur may keep his friend, his final piece of home, at his side. 

“Aye,” he says, his voice soft and strained with emotion as his hand gently moves over the Nightfall’s back. “I will miss him.”

They stay like that for a while, surrounded by horses and silence and the dimming purple light that drifts in from the rafters.


End file.
